Farewell
by cathymalfoy
Summary: A good-bye to Fred Weasley.


The world was never a kaleidoscope. It is, and was, and always will be what we decide to make of it, but, in reality, color was never, and is not necessary. It is a luxury that people would rather live without because of the daring and energy it requires to be obtained. But what is life without color? I, too, saw only black and white. But your life was a work of art, every brushstroke determined to bring richness to a world of neutrality. You made me see that there was more to life than monotone. More to the world than the tinted glass cages we inflict upon ourselves. Life is not life at all if it is considered a burden.

The color you worked so hard to insert was so beautiful, yet so fleeting. What of the air to which you so effortlessly brought warmth and vitality? That same air has gone stale with apathy. It is as gray as the people who rely on it to give them life, yet they never give anything back or see it as a thing to appreciate. They waste their breath complaining about pathetic aspects of their lives that they themselves had caused for such selfish reasons. They waste their breath sighing and moaning about little things, a new list of which they will create the next day to sigh and moan about for those twenty-four hours. They laugh most willingly at the mention of crude and cruel aspects of society, yet they scorn and sniff when they are revealed to true humor. Their hollow laugh was never melodic, just like the uniformity they created for themselves.

You were different. Your laugh seemed to come from your very soul. It was a finely tuned instrument, because you used it so often. And you tried to make other people see life the same way. Your jests were never crude. I couldn't help but smile in your presence. You stood out from the gray background containing the rest of the world. And you tried to pull me out too. I loved you for that. You alone were the rainbow in what seemed to be an endless extent of cloud. I began to think like you. You touched so many hearts, painted masterpieces in the people you knew.

And what of the splendor of the world? It was always there, and always will be there. But no one ever bothered to look. They saw no purpose in beauty, only a waste of valuable expanse. In the few things that had purpose, they wasted. They saw it as theirs for the taking. In anything that threatened their heartless efforts, they saw the vilest of villains, when they were the true foes of nature. It was all for the thirst of happiness and color in their lives.

You pitied them and felt compassion for them. They were misguided and misled. They yearned only for temporary refuge from the expanse of gray that they chose as the substance of their lives. What they sought were the equivalent of decorated tombs. Their idea of treasure was artificially pleasant-looking, but ugly and wretched on the inside. But because they never found true joy, they learned to become immune to the misery of their existence. They never saw more to life than a long period of suffering in a world full of atrocities.

Once again, you were unique. You always lacked in the mundane treasures that they worshipped, but you found true joy. You and your brother tried to manufacture this wonderful feeling and give it away in a time in the world was most in need of it. You only wanted to break the world of out of its sadness and help its people see what real happiness was. In turn, you reaped the earthly wealth that you didn't have before you found your purpose. But you were still not content. You knew that success was not measured in the size of one's bank account. Monetary prosperity did not mean one's goal in life was complete, as you continually told me.

Like so many others, you were filled with ambition. And yet you were not blinded by greed and desperation. You sought no riches, but journeyed for the intangible belongings that made living worthwhile. Your heart was pure and full of good, so your ambitions took you far. No sense of self-indulgence could ever make you a slave of your work. Even if you were not frugal with your money, you channeled your profession towards chipping away the ice that surrounded the hearts of so many of your customers. Your efforts made you immune to the cynical forces that they had caved in to.

I admired you for all your hard work. I was so affected by your kindness and love. Once I was revealed to color, I distanced myself from the gray world I had been living in. I appreciated every flower in the grass that tried so hard to bring its own little burst of color into the dreary world. Every shining early-morning dewdrop on the leaves of a majestic oak was a pearl whose charm far surpassed the appeal of the gleaming pieces of stone and metal that were the product of a hunger for money and materialistic pride. The life of every blade of grass was precious, for together, they made up the ideally serene meadow that we so seldom see anymore.

Instead of seeing a threat within the natural instincts of monsters, you saw positive purpose. The venom of a vicious doxy could be converted into a product that could help you fulfill your aims. A mark in the sky that had generated so much terror and chaos through the years could become the subject of joke in the concept of a virtually harmless sweet. The sinister violet posters of a corrupt government inspired the décor of your shop windows. Despite the gloom that had settled over the community in the time of terror, you insisted upon making sure your store remained open and exploding with the color that you so loved.

Your pursuit of true happiness gave you success. It gave you many fans, but also many ravenous competitors who were jealous and spited you for your accomplishments. Your heart went out to the human race, to both good and bad. Those who were unreasonably envious did not have the same pursuit. You knew they would never understand your philosophy, but you were still forgiving. They only made you more determined to achieve your objective. You worked even harder to prove your point. Instead of scrutinizing the woes of the world, you did your best to paint a portrait of stunning success over the façade of gray. Like the seemingly insignificant sidewalk artist, you brought magnificence to cracked concrete.

You were on the edge of greatness, but, just like the chalk masterpieces of the sidewalk artist, the rain is washing all the color away. The storm clouds had always loomed over your head; the thunder had always been waiting for its time to strike. Now, the color is gone. All the remains are a mere watermark of what you had tried so hard to do. The rain blurs the images of all the people. It makes their lifeless black attire look gray, until they are undistinguishable from one another, until they are all one big mass of gray. Your work of genius has faded to a blank, dull canvas once again.

As for the confined spaces that you had hated, you are left to rot in such a place. In a matter of years, you will be nothing more than a meaningful pile of dust and bones. I will do my best to make sure your legacy lives on, but such work is never complete without you. There is a man amid the mass of gray. He speaks highly of you, but what he speaks of is nothing like you. There is hollowness in his voice. His words of praise are empty. He never knew you. It is unfortunate that you never had the chance to meet him and allow him to see color.

The flowers surrounding you are gaudy. All the imperfections have been eliminated from them. All the slightly wilted leaves and petals, all the thorns have been removed and unceremoniously thrown away as rubbish. But you loved them with their imperfections. Their imperfections characterized them and made them relatable and real. You preferred wild roses to ones grown in a garden. They relied on only what nature provided, only on the bare necessities to produce their blooming glory. Though they did not have the grace and perfection of those grown by a skilled gardener, they proved nature's forces were more than adept. You once joked about this. Overall, nature did a better job at taking care of its possessions, because it had so much more to care for.

I can hear people crying around me. You hated to hear people cry. They have a right to miss you, but I know you would want them to smile and not waste their tears on someone who would have been thoroughly discomforted by such an act of misery. But you would understand. They want you back. I want you back. Nothing is the same without you. But I refuse to cry. You were always so strong, and you urged me to be the same. I mourn you with my numb and broken heart, but I cannot cry for you.

You do not deserve this. You lived life with so much passion. You died a hero, a martyr for the greater good. You wanted to live life to the fullest, and you did. I'm sure you wouldn't have minded to die like this if you simply had to go. But I wish the world could have gotten to know you better before you departed so soon. You would have loathed what they're doing for you right now. You would be completely frustrated if you saw all of us so strongly obligated to wear black. You would be ashamed to be the cause of such an event if you saw us so broken and overcome with grief. Though I am with them, underneath I am still struggling to be colorful. I am determined not to let your love to go waste. This is a goodbye, but not forever. I am I will certain see you again. Until then, I celebrate life.

Until then, good-bye, my love.


End file.
